Whispering Smith

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XXVI

  TOWER W

  At the end of a long and neglected hall on the second floor of the oldbank block in Hill Street, Whispering Smith had a room in which hemade headquarters at Medicine Bend; it was in effect WhisperingSmith's home. A man's room is usually a forlorn affair in spite of anyeffort to make it home-like. If he neglects his room it looks barren,and if he ornaments it it looks fussy. Boys can do something with aden because they are not yet men, and some tincture of woman's naturestill clings to a boy. Girls are born to the deftness that is tobecome all theirs in the touch of a woman's hand; but men, if theywalk alone, pay the penalty of loneliness.

  Whispering Smith, being logical, made no effort to decorate hisdomestic poverty. All his belongings were of a simple sort and hisroom was as bare as a Jesuit's. Moreover, his affairs, being at timeshighly particular, did not admit of the presence of a janitor in hisquarters, and he was of necessity his own janitor. His iron bed wasspread with a pair of Pullman blankets, his toilet arrangementsincluded nothing more elaborate than a shaving outfit, and the mirrorabove his washstand was only large enough to make a hurried shave,with much neck-stretching, possible. The table was littered withletters, but it filled up one corner of the room, and a rocking-chairand a trunk filled up another. The floor was spread with a Navajoblanket, and near the head of the bed stood an old-fashioned wardrobe.This served not to ward Whispering Smith's robes, which hung for themost part on his back, but to accommodate his rifles, of which itcontained an array that only a practised man could understand. Thewardrobe was more, however, than an armory. Beside the guns that stoodracked in precision along the inner wall, McCloud had once, to hissurprise, seen a violin. It appeared out of keeping in such anatmosphere and rather the antithesis of force and violence than acomplement for it. And again, though the rifles were disquietinglybright and effective-looking, the violin was old and shabby, hangingobscurely in its corner, as if, whatever it might have in common withits master, it had nothing in common with its surroundings.

  The door of the room in the course of many years had been mutilatedwith keyholes and reenforced with locks until it appeared difficultto choose an opening that would really afford entrance; but two menbesides Whispering Smith carried keys to the room--Kennedy and GeorgeMcCloud. They had right of way into it at all hours, and knew how toget in.

  McCloud had left the bridge camp on the river for Medicine Bend on theSaturday that Marion Sinclair--whose husband had finally told her hewould give her one more chance to think it over--returned with Dicksiesafely from their trip to the Frenchman ranch.

  Whispering Smith, who had been with Bucks and Morris Blood, got backto town the same day. The president and general manager were at theWickiup during the afternoon, and left for the East at nine o'clock inthe evening, when their car was attached to an east-bound passengertrain. McCloud took supper afterward with Whispering Smith at a FrontStreet chop-house, and the two men separated at eleven o'clock. It wasthree hours later when McCloud tapped on the door of Smith's room, andin a moment opened it. "Awake, Gordon?"

  "Sure: come in. What is it?"

  "The second section of the passenger train--Number Three, with theexpress cars--was stopped at Tower W to-night. Oliver Sollers waspulling; he is badly shot up, and one of the messengers was shot allto pieces. They cracked the through safe, emptied it, and made a cleanget-away."

  "Tower W--two hundred and seventy-six miles. Have you ordered up anengine?"

  "Yes."

  "Where's Kennedy?"

  A second voice answered: "Right here."

  "Strike a light, Farrell. What about the horses?"

  "They're being loaded."

  "Is the line clear?"

  "Rooney Lee is clearing it."

  "Spike it, George, and leave every westbound train in siding, with theengine cut loose and plenty of steam, till we get by. It's now ornever this time. Two hundred and seventy-six miles; they're giving usour money's worth. Who's going with us, Farrell?"

  "Bob Scott, Reed Young, and Brill, if Reed can get him at Sleepy Cat.Dancing is loading the horses."

  "I want Ed Banks to lead a _posse_ straight from here for WilliamsCache; Dancing can go with him. And telephone Gene and Bob Johnson tosit down in Canadian Pass till they grow to the rocks, but not to letanybody through if they want to live after I see them. They've got allthe instructions; all they need is the word. It's a long chance, butI think these are our friends. You can head Banks off by telephonesomewhere if we change our minds when we get a trail. Start BrillYoung and a good man from Sleepy Cat ahead of us, George, if you can,in a baggage car with any horses that they can get there. They can beat Tower W by daybreak and perhaps pick up a trail before we reachthere, and we shall have fresh horses for them. I'm ready, I guess;let's go. Slam the door, George!" In the hall Whispering Smith threw apocket-light on his watch. "I want you to put us there by seveno'clock."

  "Charlie Sollers is going to pull you," answered McCloud. "Have yougot everything? Then we're off." The three men tiptoed down the darkhall, down the stairs, and across the street on a noiseless run forthe railroad yard.

  The air was chill and the sky clear, with a moon more than half to thefull. "Lord, what a night to ride!" exclaimed Whispering Smith,looking mournfully at the stars. "Well planned, well planned, I mustadmit."

  The men hastened toward the yard, where lanterns were moving aboutthe car of the train-guards near the Blue Front stables. Theloading board had been lowered, and the horses were being carefullyled into the car. From a switch engine behind the car a shrillcloud of steam billowed into the air. Across the yard a greatpassenger engine, its huge white side-rod rising and falling slowlyin the still light of the moon--one of the mountain racers,thick-necked like an athlete and deep-chested--was backing down forthe run with the single car almost across the west end of thedivision. Trainmen were running to and from the Wickiup platform. Bythe time the horses were loaded the conductor had orders. Until thelast minute, Whispering Smith was in consultation with McCloud, andgiving Dancing precise instructions for the _posse_ into the Cachecountry. They were still talking at the side door of the car,McCloud and Dancing on the ground and Whispering Smith squatting onhis haunches inside the moving car, when the engine signalled andthe special drew away from the chute, pounded up the long run of theladder switch, and moved with gathering speed into the canyon. In thecab Charlie Sollers, crushing in his hand the tissue that hadbrought the news of his brother's death, sat at the throttle. He hadno speed orders. They had only told him he had a clear track.